


Bruce-centric Tumblr Oneshots

by corvuss



Category: Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Incredible Hulk (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Canonical Character Death, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Post-Endgame, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 23:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvuss/pseuds/corvuss
Summary: A dump of various Bruce fic from my Marvel blog, @mutantbanner.





	1. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off the comics canon that Hulk can see ghosts... What if MCU Prof could, too? 
> 
> Warning for canonical Tony Death. RIP Buddy.

bruce can see ghosts, now.

he didn’t notice it at first, caught up in all the rush and fanfare and _newness_ of the merge, but after a few times, he begins to realize those constant tricks of the light weren’t tricks.

the people who were taken in the snap don’t ever seem to show up. he tells this to the mourning mothers, the widows, the lost friends who inquire. he doesn’t know if this means they’re somewhere else, or if thanos made it so that they never existed in the first place, living on only as faded memories, ghosts of the mind.

he thinks, hopes, that if the later were true, he’d see their ghosts, too. for isn’t that all they are - memories?

in a different time, as a different man, he might’ve locked himself in some study and devoted his life to theorizing, desperately trying to find some way to bring them back. and he does, for a bit, but it doesn’t take him nearly as long before he grows restless, and lets out a growl, sending papers and ink flying across the desk because _damnit_ , the people left are suffering, he has to help _them_. so he does. he puts his mind to work to invent and his brawn to save and his newfound, confident charm to say _hey, it’s okay, i gotcha,_ or _cut it out, kid! don’t'cha know you have a future beyond being the world’s youngest supervillian?_

he talks to the ghosts, sometimes. most of them aren’t very talkative. but something in him; memories that-now-belong-to-him, to _them_ , says that this isn’t how it used to be.

there’s _more_ , now. from the aftermath. it’s crowded, _wrong_ , with accidents that shouldn’t’ve happened and people who shouldn’t’ve gotten sick and heartbreaks and suicides.

too many of the latter.

he tries not to dwell on it. the world might be bleak but it’s high time he used his skills for good, rather than letting himself ferment - and if he’s honest, that was half the reason they came to this mutual decision anyways. to help. to _do something_.

so he saves and he heals and he comforts - and sometimes, he passes messages from beyond the grave. he’s still unsure if the ghosts are _spirits_ or just echos of the past, repeating what they would’ve said, what they would’ve done. he’s not sure it matters either way.

loki is gone, dead, a ghost like the rest. he doesn’t realize for sure until he visits thor, and he’d hoped it was a trick of the light or of the trickster god himself. but he’d watched him die, there’s no doubt about it, and thor crumples in his arms all over again, and the sobs that wrack his body are all blind fury and pain and a horrible, necessary, coming to terms.

he holds the other man tight, as he was once held, swears to keep him safe because he’s bigger and stronger now, it’s his turn to protect, it’s what he does best, after all. it’s okay to cry. it’s okay to hurt.

(betty’s not dead, he realizes, after a long time searching. she’s on the list of the lost, and every time he looks at the marker, he wants to put a fist through it. smash, smash, _smash._ )

it doesn’t matter how much he loses. it all hurts, it all aches, and he can’t shove it all away neatly into a box like he used to, can’t compartmentalize and forget, no, he has to _feel_. it’s the side of him he’d once tauted as the monster that _feels_ so deeply.

it’s months later when he slips on that gauntlet, and does what he has to do - _it’s like i was made for this_ \- that he feels _all_ of it, all their pain, their terror, their longing for release, and it’s so much, it’s _too_ much, the gamma coursing through his veins like electricity and something else, something _familiar_ , and he knows he has to get through this, has to see it through to the end. natasha made the ultimate sacrifice. it’s only fitting that he tries, too.

he snaps, with a sob, and the universe is back again. he crumples to the ground, and the others rush to his side, and he feels darkness pushing at the edge of his consciousness, claiming him, and it doesn’t matter what happens next, because he _did_ it. they’re _safe_.

the ghosts look a little more solid, in that moment.

but he comes back, as he is prone to do, and when the fight is over, _when the fight is over_ , the field is covered in as many shimmering spirits as it is _people_ , and it makes him feel as ill inside at it is beautiful.

tony didn’t come back like he did. he was just a man, he didn’t stand a chance. but somehow it doesn’t feel _fair_ , and for all the health and wellness he tauts, the survivor’s guilt still crumples him in its palm.

tony, for all his faults, never gave up on the chance to be a hero. but they should’ve celebrated together that night.

they all should’ve. but the team was smaller than it should’ve been, and only he could see the outlines of the people they once were, the memories they’d now become.

morgan knows, that uncle bruce can see ghosts. he tells her one night, that her father rests by her bedside sometimes, to watch over her. pepper smiles sadly, and thinks, as most adults do, that he’s saying that to help her feel better - and maybe he is, but maybe there’s truth to it too.

the man by the bedside smiles.


	2. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a life of running, Bruce gives up.
> 
> Warning for suicidal ideation and general Bruce Angst.

when he wakes up to rubble and the cries of the dying for the fifty-second time, he feels nothing at all. **  
**

it’s particularly bad this time, and he should feel something, guilt, remorse, anger, but really, nothing is quite real right now. it’s just _hollow_ ; he exists slightly outside of his body and can’t bother to reel himself back in.

instead, he gets to his feet, patches up the survivors, and comes to a decision he should’ve made a long time ago.

it doesn’t take him long at all to assemble a makeshift radio receiver from the scraps he finds in the destruction’s wake. he’s working on autopilot as he tunes it to ross’s military base and waits for the static to die down.

“it’s banner.”

his voice is flat.

“what?”

“you win. come pick me up. no tricks this time.” he gives them his coordinates and hangs up before he gets a response.

bruce puts his hands behind his back in silent surrender and just _waits_ , staring into nothing.

he wonders, distantly, what they will do to him. how much it will hurt. what they’ll turn him into, if they don’t just put him down and dissect him first. he wonders if they’ll torture him. if they’ll try to replicate him. how much he’ll be conscious for.

it doesn’t matter. whatever they do, at least it will be controlled.

whatever they do, he’ll deserve it.

whatever they do, at least there’ll be no more waking up to cities wiped off the map at random because of him.

the military’s had its’ claws in him since the very start. he was silly to think he could run from the inevitable, stupid to think he was a hero, playing the martyr all this time.

this was going to happen, sooner or later. might as well speed it up before more people get hurt.

he’s tired of running. let it happen. let them come.

it doesn’t take long for them to arrive, and they don’t need to tranquilize him like that, really; he would’ve boarded willingly either way, but it’s not like they know that. there’s a whole swat team, and he chokes out a weak laugh at how overkill it all is.

ross’s stare is as steely as ever. there’s no gloating there, no fury, no thanks. just cold acknowledgement - and a single nod. an unspoken truth shared between them.

as bruce collapses, his vision tunnelling, he’s thankful for the tranqs. the oblivion is more than welcome.


	3. Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate ending to Infinity War. Thorbruce! 
> 
> Major Character Death warning.

thor knew something was wrong the moment bruce collapsed in front of him. 

he finds himself rushing to his side before he has the chance to process what’s going on, and suddenly bruce is grabbing onto his cape like it’s a lifeline as convulsions shudder through his body.

he cries out in pain, and slowly, thor watches him begin to flake away in the wind just like all the others, and _this can’t be real, bruce is invulnerable, it can’t happen like this -_

bruce collapses into his arms and thor holds him tight.

“’s okay,” bruce slurs, his voice barely above a whisper. he reaches up, brushes a hand against his face, and thor holds onto it like it’s the only thing keeping bruce there. “it’s okay, really.” 

he turns and stares at the remainder of his hand, eyes glowing in fascination as it begins to disappear completely, and it’s weird how much it looks like sand - and then he cries out, letting go of thor’s cloak as his hand flies to his upper arm.

dark green creeps through his flesh, and bruce’s eyes widen in horror as it begins knitting together what was just lost, racing against total collapse, against what the snap _wants_. 

bones and muscle and sinew and flesh form back together - and then begin to collapse again - and then reform - and bruce convulses, whimpering involuntarily - and thor watches with bated breath as the cycle continues and all he can do is hold him. 

bruce coughs up blood.

and then, miraculously, he stabilizes. 

he stays there in thor’s lap for what feels like an eternity, his breathing labored, his eyes glazed over. the convulsions slow, and for a split second thor almost thinks it’s going to be okay - 

and then bruce pulls away, and wavers, and there’s nothing thor can do but watch as the structural integrity of his body _collapses_ around him, painfully slowly, and bruce locks eyes with him, and he sees a hint of _fear_ cross his face as he dissolves, and morphs, and bruce melts away and the hulk steps out like a snake shedding its skin.

the hulk staggers back, eyes wild with fear that looks so _unnatural_ on a such a powerful beast, and he _roars_. harsh and confused and ragged and almost like a _scream._

 _“banner.”_ he slumps down on the ground with an earth-shaking _thud_ and curls up there, pressing his hands into his head. suddenly the monster looks _small_ , vulnerable, like a scared child instead of a two-ton beast. “ _where banner?”_

he pounds at his head as he roars again. “ _empty. empty. empty. banner gone, banner GONE.”_

thor makes a move towards him and he scrambles back into a tree, eyes wide and feral. the tree bends backwards as if it were a toothpick, and the hulk digs his fingers into his hair and lets out a primal _sob_. 

and then he runs, and _leaps,_ and hulk is out of sight and thor is _alone._


	4. No Roads Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for self-loathing, intense suicidal ideation, and general Bruce Misery. Aw Yea!

bruce doesn’t want to die anymore, not really. 

he knows - he _knows_ \- that the hulk isn’t his fault. it’s taken years to work through his issues but he knows, now, that he’s hated himself for so long because of the constant abuse he faced growing up. he doesn’t think he _deserves_ to die, not like he used to. 

he’s not a sinner, not a bad man, there’s no penance to pay. he’s not at fault for his situation; it’d be _irrational_ to think otherwise- he realizes that now. 

but. _but_.

that doesn’t change reality. 

that doesn’t change the fact that he’s a walking time bomb, that no matter _how_ much he learns to cooperate with the hulk and control his transformations, that he could always be captured. 

it’s a simple fact: his continued existence in this world means _his blood, his dna, everything that makes him up_ can be twisted and used against his will. that it could unlock the secrets to a hundred new weapons of mass destruction, or that he could be taken and brainwashed or lobotomized or cloned and - 

bruce doesn’t want to die. 

he used to be suicidal, he used to genuinely believe he deserved it, but he knows better now. 

he knows he _has_ to die, somehow, because that’s just the way it _is._

because he can’t hurt people - no, not _him_ , he corrects himself- he can’t let people like _ross_ use him to hurt people. and that’s just inevitable, really, he can’t stay on the run forever. they’ll catch up, sooner or later.

it’s sad, yeah, but he has to remove himself from that equation. he can’t allow that to _happen_. it’s just the rational, moral choice in this situation. 

sometimes, people are just unlucky. some people just _shouldn’t_ be alive. and that’s okay. 

really, it’s okay.

he’ll find a way, sooner or later, he _has_ to. for the good of humanity itself. 

it’s not _fair_ , it’s not what he _wants_ , and it’s a real shame because he has _family_ now, he’s doing good work, he’s finally learning to feel alright with himself. 

but when does he ever get what he wants?


End file.
